Since the end of last year, I have been visiting my local Marie Curie hospice for all sorts of scrumptious treatments like reflexology – the work of gods – and emotional pick-me-ups.

I had decided it was time I got a little help with “stuff”.

I’m still not sure what this “stuff” was or what solutions I needed, but I felt I needed “something.”

This sounds vague, I know, but such is my brain sometimes.

I have to be assessed by a palliative doctor, which is refreshingly nice. Typically, you hear the word palliative and you think it’s game over.

Well no, people like this doctor give you options, give you any painkiller under the sun and want to know about the day-to-day issues rather than the scans and blood tests (yawn).

They are there to make life as easy and comfortable as possible, for as long as they can – and I plan for that to be a while.

She knew what all my scans told us. We know that I have multiple cancer spots on my spine, hips and pelvis.

And on paper you’d think I’d struggle to move let alone exercise. But exercise is what she wants me to do.

I have somehow lost a lot of my confidence in that department and it also didn’t help that, at every exercise class I used to attend, a bit of me died inside when the instructor asked if I’d got “any injuries.”

I hated that look when I told them. I mean, it was only Pilates!

When I was living in China (before Diagnosis Day) I dabbled in a little modelling alongside working for a travel company and teaching English to Chinese businessmen and children.

When I say dabbled I mean I helped a mate with a fashion show and went to castings only to realise how soul-destroying the modelling world was in Beijing.

One afternoon I was given a catwalk class to help me up my game.

It wasn’t very successful and in fact I really didn’t take trying to perfect the model strut very seriously at all.

Last Wednesday, I had a very vivid flashback to that day when the physiotherapist asked me to walk up and down the corridor to see how many lengths I could do in two minutes.

The contrast hit me like a sledgehammer. I found myself asking myself how it had come to this.

Back then, in Beijing, I was judged on my ability to walk in an ultra-cool fashion, and yet here I was being assessed on my ability to walk at all.

And not just that, but I was struck by how much my body had changed. It felt like I had aged 40 years, not four.

I count my lucky stars every single day I can get out of bed without too much of a struggle.

But I am now determined to help my body in any way I can.

I know I don’t help myself (for one, I spend far too long sitting in front of my laptop) but thanks to the great people at the hospice, I’m going to get pumping some serious iron.